Page 2 of A Beguiled Gentleman (The Bradley Brothers #1)

Chapter 2

Miss Hannah Gibbons stood beside her mother as she watched fine, and some not so fine, carriages whir by in succession, waiting for their opportunity. When a break finally appeared, the women rushed onto the dusty road, and Hannah held her breath so as not to induce a sneeze. It was not one of her finer qualities, but it simply could not be helped. When she sneezed, the entire world around her knew about it.

“Hold your breath, dear,” her mother said as they neared the other side. Apparently she did not want the unwanted attention Hannah’s sneezes brought either.

Hannah nodded, refusing to open her mouth and welcome the dust particles inside. When they were finally clear of the cloudy air, she inhaled deeply, her lungs desperate for breath.

A young man walked by, first with concern etching his brow as he watched her. But once she released the air and gave him a soft smile, his worry seemed to drift away and a pleasant smile spread across his lips.

And he kept watching her. The poor man kept his pace, unknowingly walking straight toward an open door.

“Oh, sir,” Hannah began, raising her hand.

Hope lit his features, but he took one step too many and collided with the thick wooden door.

Hannah smothered her face with her gloved hand, but the next moment was unavoidable. A laugh burst forth, no matter what she did to try and stop it.

“Hannah,” her mother hissed beside her. She quickly looked about, then dragged Hannah to the nearest shop, pulling her inside. “Goodness, girl.” She shook her head, smoothing her hand across her brow. In doing so, she successfully brushed aside a curled strand of auburn hair. While similar in color to Hannah’s, her mother’s hair was much more brown, and did not seem to have the startling effect that Hannah’s did.

“This is our first appearance in town,” her mother continued, “and you are already showing your true colors. Can you please, for my sake and your father’s, do your best to keep them hidden for at least the next six months?”

Hannah bit her lip, chest deflating as her laughter ceased with her mother’s sharp reprimand. “I’m sorry, Mother. But you did not find that funny in the least? I do feel sorry for the man—”

“A perfectly polite, handsome , young man at that,” she said, shaking her head. Her blue eyes practically bulged with her words.

“You have no way of knowing if that young man is polite.” Hannah removed one of her gloves, fingering a bit of the deep-blue velvet ribbon on the shelf of the haberdashery. They might as well be productive while they were here.

Her mother bristled beside her, then bent her long, trim frame to look at a table full of gloves. “He smiled,” she said, her words distracted by her task. “That is more than I can say of your manners.”

“At least I have a sense of humor.” Which was more than Hannah could say of any number of wealthy people. They tended to be a rather stiff lot.

Mrs. Gibbons pinched her lips, surely attempting to keep her frustration in check. “Someone else’s pain or embarrassment is not something one should find humorous.”

Hannah’s mind wandered to last night—the young man pouring out his heart and soul in a profession of love and offer of marriage, only to be rejected with little to no remorse on the lady’s part. The would-be lovebirds had not seen her on the opposite side of the balcony, which had suited Hannah just fine as she had been doing her best to go unnoticed. But then the entire situation had taken a rather strange and uncomfortable turn.

“I do not always find such things humorous.” She turned and strode to the counter to ask the young worker if she could purchase some of the ribbon.

As Hannah and the shop girl returned, Hannah avoided her mother’s piercing eyes. She could feel the heated gaze searing the skin on the side of her face. The young girl quickly snipped off a yard of ribbon and handed it to her.

“Hannah,” her mother said, her voice low. “I do not need to remind you why we are in Warthford in the first place, do I?”

She swallowed, running her fingers over the ribbon to avoid her mother’s accusing eyes. “No. I am perfectly aware.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath, then forced a worn smile onto her face. “Then I suggest you please try.”

Hannah gritted her teeth, spinning on her heel to pay for her merchandise.

Please try .

Hannah ground to a halt, pressing her eyes closed for a moment before turning back and calling a smile to her lips. “Is there anything you wish to purchase, Mother?”

See? She could try. She could be the polite, dutiful daughter. And oftentimes she was. It was only in those moments when Hannah’s mind seemed to take over her actions that she failed. And it was often too late before she even realized what was happening. Like the previous evening, when she had driven herself into that young man.

“No. Thank you, but I do not need anything.” Mrs. Gibbons patted her hair, not meeting Hannah’s eyes.

Hannah’s heart sank. Her mother was clearly frazzled today, and Hannah’s rude laughter had not helped. They were in Warthford for a task, and if Hannah failed, then they would have to move. Again.

They left the shop, the midafternoon sun welcoming them with warmth. Hannah turned her face toward it like a sunflower searching for sustenance, making her bonnet practically useless in its task.

“Now, we shall have at least five new dresses commissioned.” Her mother looked at Hannah, quietly tsking her until Hannah dropped her chin and kept her face under the shade of her bonnet. When sure that Hannah’s light complexion was protected, she proceeded. “Hopefully we will receive invitations soon once they see how lovely you are and understand that your father is a wealthy gentleman.”

Hannah had heard her mother’s monologue daily since they arrived one week ago. They had not even unpacked their last trunk and already her mother was dragging her into the small town to be admired and asked after.

“Especially after the Lindfields' ball last night. I had several mother’s approach me who wished to meet you. Before you disappeared, that is.” She gave Hannah a critical eye.

“I told you,” Hannah said, gripping her reticule tighter, “I was warm.” Warm from embarrassment , she neglected to add.

Her parents were not what one would call subtle, and Hannah wilted under their praise in public. Especially since they did not offer it as freely at home, behind closed doors. She felt rather like an animal being auctioned off. Look at her silky red coat. Isn’t it breathtaking? And what of her figure? Yes, very good for rearing children, I agree.

Of course, the comments were not so outspoken or crude as all that, but Hannah read between the veiled flatteries. And instead of opening her mouth and sticking her foot into it, she had chosen to retreat to the quiet safety of the balcony. Rather thoughtful of herself, really, for then she couldn’t cause embarrassment to her parents.

At least, that would have been the outcome had it not been for the couple presenting a rather awkward situation for all. How difficult was it to take a cursory glance around the space to be sure you had the privacy you desired? The young woman, Margaret, as Lord Noah had referred to her, had certainly noticed Hannah. But the young man was literally bursting at the seams and could not contain himself for the two seconds it would have taken to glance behind him.

Rather sweet, if a bit callow.

The clattering of wheels had Hannah pulling a handkerchief from her reticule and pressing it to her nose just as a carriage bustled by, emitting another cloud of dust.

“Goodness,” she said, pulling the white cloth back from her nose. “The traffic today is rather relentless. I shall have puffy, red eyes in a moment if it doesn’t subside.”

“We cannot have that.” Her mother pulled her along at a faster clip. “You must make a good impression on the society here.”

“And if I don’t?”

Lines formed about her mother’s eyes as she considered the possibility. “We will not even entertain that idea. We must go forward with the mindset that you shall find a husband. And quickly.”

Yes. Heaven forbid they discover Hannah’s true nature.

Late that evening, after Hannah had settled into the comfort of her bed, her mother’s words rang in her ears.

Please try.

Hannah was brought back to the night after the initial incident. The one which set everything else into motion. It had been Hannah’s first real brush with despair, realizing that much of the circumstances of life were beyond her control.

“What were you thinking, Hannah?” Her mother paced in front of the heavy oak desk, which stood like a monument in her father’s study. It was the focal point of the room, meant to draw attention and respect. Only a man with great wealth and prestige could afford such a monstrosity. It was a statement to all who entered.

Hannah pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, which still burned even to this moment. “I had not thought it through. I was only trying to help.” The window behind her father’s desk seemed to pull all light from the room—the night sky black as pitch.

“Help?” Her mother’s frantic pacing ceased, and she spun toward Hannah’s father. He sat behind the monument, hands clasped over his belly as he watched the proceedings unfold. “Geralt, do you see how that was of any help to anyone?”

Now Hannah knew things were bad. Only when her mother was severely cross did she refer to her father by his Christian name.

Her father opened his mouth to speak, but before a word came out, her mother continued. “It is bad enough that the Gibbons’ wealth originally came from trade. We are under severe scrutiny in society already. But to have you reach up and wipe food off of Mr. Raynard’s face? In a room full of people? They must think you were raised by animals.”

“To be fair,” Hannah interjected, her voice unusually timid, “I had been trying to show him where the food was, but he kept swiping and missing it.”

Her father lowered his head with a groan, and her mother clenched a fist by her side. “That does not mean a young lady should reach up and wipe it off for him.”

Hannah realized this, but in the moment, it had seemed the right choice. Mr. Raynard had looked so helpless, swiping at a bit of jam on his cheek with no success. And then he had looked around with a pink flush on his cheeks.

“I do not think it is as bad as you are making it, Mother,” Hannah said, hunching over in her chair.

“That is where you are wrong.” Her mother crossed her arms. “I can assure you I saw several women watch it unfold, and they were even less impressed than me—Mr. Raynard’s mother being one of them. I am quite sure she thinks you loose in the haft.”

“Mother!” Hannah gasped, her head whipping up. “You go too far.”

“Do I?” She sauntered closer to Hannah. “I am quite sure I did not imagine the whispered conversations that tickled my ear as I walked to retrieve you for the evening. And believe me, they had plenty to say.”

Hannah scoffed. “That is ridiculous. Have they nothing better to do with their time than to aggrandize a simple societal error?”

Her father propped his head in his hand, and he twisted until he successfully buried it in his palm.

“No.” Her mother’s word was harsh. Biting. “They do not have anything better to do. They are waiting for us to make a mistake so they can ostracize us, and you served them up the perfect opportunity.”

“I will make a better impression at the picnic next week,” Hannah said, straightening in her seat. “I have to imagine this will all be over by then."

“I do not hold to such optimism as you, but we shall see what damage is done then. In the meantime . . .”

The tangible silence weighed heavily in the room.

“Please try to behave, Hannah.”

But the picnic did not satisfy Hannah’s mother—for only one young lady deigned to speak with her the entire afternoon, and no man had even dared.